WHERE in the heavens are ye to-day, Gods, Aśvins, rich in constancy? Hear this, ye excellent as Steers: Atri inviteth you to come.
Where are they now? Where are the Twain, the famed Nāsatyas, Gods in heaven? Who is the man ye strive to reach? Who of your suppliants is with you?
Whom do ye visit, whom approach? to whom direct your harnessed car? With whose devotions are ye pleased? We long for you to further us.
Ye, Strengtheners, for Paura stir the filler swimming in the flood, Advancing to be captured like a lion to the ambuscade.
Ye from cyavana worn with age removed his skin as ’twere a robe. So, when ye made him young again, he stirred the longing of a dame.
Here is the man who lauds you both: to see your glory are we here. Now bear me, come with saving help, ye who are rich in store of wealth.
Who among many mortal men this day hath won you to himself? What bard, accepters of the bard? Who, rich in wealth! with sacrifice?
O Aśvins, may your car approach, most excellent of cars for speed. Through many regions may our praise pass onward among mortal men.
May our laudation of you Twain, lovers of meath! be sweet to you. Fly hitherward, ye wise of heart, like falcons with your winged steeds.
O Aśvins, when at any time ye listen to this call of mine, For you is dainty food prepared: they mix refreshing food for you.
